Dead Man’s Highway
You’re everything. Power in your fingertips to change and influence. Bring life to everything you encounter. The rest is up to you.
I woke up with heaven on my mind
Lord, I dreamed of a train, was a glory bound train
I wonder will my children be on that train?
I wonder will my daddy be on that train?
Melted lightening blurring into yellow lines at the center of the road. A mystery rushing past me and it’s all slow, fast, the whole world is bustling and still. In my heart is a rod of fire and the blood coming out is frozen and the air seems cold but my insides of warm.
What’s real.
Is it only what I perceive it to be?
That tree, at 11 O’ Clock NorthWest wouldn’t exist if someone, 10 minutes before my passing, had decided to chop it down. We’re all enigmas to everyone else, at least, mmmm, yes, hopefully.. the best of them are enigmas.
The rest are predictable, no flair. Their flavor is dirt. Their spirit is empty. Every one of their moves is tethered to rope of predictability and Fear is the puppeteer above walking them along their slumped steps.
The window is down. Air brushes my hair (freshly cut. still unnoticed…) opening the ears to a biting chill.
Maria’s playing John Prine, sweet music tender and gentle. The kind that makes you want to hold a childs hand through an apple orchard as they stumble over incomplete motor skills. Yet this avoids me.
I see the feeling, sense the imagery evokes by the song but my nervous system screams “listen to 80s punk, growl out the window, chain smoke.” And that heart, heavy at night, hollers “play Townes Van Zandt” and lyrics bounce around they whisper…
“Hey mama, when you leave
Don’t leave a thing behind
I don’t want nothin’
Can’t use nothin’…”
SCREAMING! LOUD AND SHATTERING! Reality rushes back and Maria is screaming in the passenger seat and when I look at her she gets louder and louder “YOU JUST HIT SOMEONE!!”
and she seems sincere so “nothing gets by you, lover” and when that doesn’t console her I turn back to my personal quiet solitude and notice the speedometer is challenging me.
I’ve only hit triple digits for a total of 6.5 minutes on our 300 mile journey.
I’ll be right back
Make that 7.5 minutes
Flirting with death, chasing her around like a schoolboy playing tag and when I can’t reach my finger to touch her I’m paused, grateful that she’s as elusive she is.. or yet I think… grateful that I hold back a microscopic amount, just enough to avoid knocking down her door and spilling through.
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It’s pitch black out except random street lights and we’re somewhere in the heart of the east coast.
A place they don’t talk about because it doesn’t exist until it does.
White space between black words in a book.
These places gives substance to any that’s bigger, more populated, more alive.
It’s here you remember it all matters because you feel your breath and you feel your chest rise and fall.
You sense you’re alive but the location itself is dead and you’re feeling her skin under your fingertips while looking at a town of nothing but the whole world is by you and you’re buzzing and you realize this is always happening at every moment you’re a rod, the rod, connected to the source and there to channel It into everything
And I’m going faster now not to get out quicker but to eat with the sensitivity of it all. The steering wheel is loose and I’m wide eyed and scary but Maria is laughing and childlike and there’s a dead body 5 miles back that I brought back Home To Heaven, given they sat right with the Lord.
How two people can be so different, so alike, love each other and now Stevie nicks Leather and Lace is playing and how, I hope My Guitar Wants To Kill Your Mama by The Mothers Of Invention is next…
I’m glad to be here.
MUCH LOVE,
WINSTON
SOULED IDEA
WILD BEAST
CHARMING HOMELESS MAN THAT DOESN’T SHOWER
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